


Easy as Falling

by Atalan



Series: Easy as Falling [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Romance, Transformers as Humans, shamelessly fluffy, somebody lock them in a closet already
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:39:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4719668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atalan/pseuds/Atalan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skyfire is determined to do the right thing. Silverbolt disagrees with his definitions. And seems dead set on leading him into temptation... (Human!fic)</p><p>"Come along baby, you'd better make a start... you'd better make it soon before you break my heart."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy as Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I miss Skyfire and Silverbolt at the moment. More random posting, this time of humanfic porn I wrote sometime back in 2008. I didn't post it outside Livejournal at the time, so I thought I'd fix that. There are a couple of fluffy sequels hanging around too somewhere that I might try and dig out if interest warrants.

"I know parties aren't really your thing," Silverbolt said from the doorway, "but I was wondering if you might come along for an hour or so. I think Fireflight would like it if you were there."

There were plenty of reasons, entirely legitimate reasons, to say no. The fact that Skyfire had so _much_ to do before he left, a legion of unanticipated minor tasks in addition to the completion of his ongoing projects, so that he despaired of leaving his lab in any sort of organised state. The fact that he really _didn't_ like parties all that much, especially not the more _enthusiastic_ parties thrown in honour of (and thus organised by) the younger Autobots – something that he and Silverbolt generally had in common.

The fact that it would be better for both of them if he kept away from Silverbolt.

But this was Fireflight's party, and Skyfire had been meaning to stop by anyway, and now Silverbolt was _there_ in the doorway, so completely casual and friendly and carefully not adding that _he_ would like it, too, if Skyfire were there. Silverbolt was there, a little flushed from socialising or from alcohol, top button of his shirt undone, eyes bright, trying too hard to pretend it didn't matter if Skyfire said no.

"I was just coming," Skyfire said, and focused on putting away his datapads so that he could pretend the sight of Silverbolt's beautiful, glad smile didn't make his hands shake and his breathing quicken.

They made small talk as they went, in the awkward way of two people who have always talked deep and long to each other, now suddenly faced with dangers and traps in anything but shallow words. Every so often Silverbolt's hand would brush accidentally against Skyfire's as he veered too close on a corner. The contact was like electricity, making the hairs on the back of Skyfire's arms stand on end.

He tried not to steal glances at Silverbolt, but he couldn't help it: these last two weeks, he had been more aware of Silverbolt than he ever had been of anything in his life before. Silverbolt, he suspected, was _making_ him aware. 

He wasn't _pushing_ , was the thing, wasn't actively trying to start anything, or goad Skyfire into changing his mind. He had outwardly accepted the unspoken rejection and its equally unstated reasons. He was just... somehow... with subtle movements and quiet words... with a lingering touch or a quirk of the mouth... drawing Skyfire's attention as though it were magnetised. Skyfire couldn't even say what it was he was _doing_ – he almost wondered if it was entirely in his own head, a product of frustrated desire.

Except that there was a way Silverbolt looked at him every so often – a slow sweep of lashes over intent eyes, a darting lick of the lips – that suggested how deliberately he was driving Skyfire crazy.

"Oh," said Silverbolt, as they approached the Aerials' common room, the noise of the party washing out to meet them, "watch out for the punch. I think Sideswipe, uh, _enhanced_ it."

Skyfire cast him a curious glance, and Silverbolt shrugged, a rueful grin tugging at his lips.

"It was turn a blind eye to that, or let them have the stripper," he said. "And since by 'stripper' they meant whichever of Hot Spot's lot they had enough dirt on to force into the high heels..."

"The lesser of two evils, definitely," replied Skyfire. He lost the battle to hold back his smile as soon as Silverbolt laughed.

Silverbolt's eyes lit up when he did that, their sky-blue even lovelier than usual; his face, tilted just a little to meet Skyfire's gaze, came alive with amusement. He was too serious, Silverbolt, too much of the time, but when he laughed, it was enough to stop a heart. To stop Skyfire's, at least.

He dragged his eyes away from Silverbolt and focused on putting one foot in front of the other as they approached the door.

The room was loud, and packed: the Aerials, after a rocky start, were a popular group of young men, and half the _Ark_ seemed to be in there. Skyfire hesitated on the threshold, looking for Fireflight – found him, halfway through downing something that glowed luminous green under a UV lamp that had been wired to the ceiling, egged on with gleeful hollering from his wingmates and friends.

"I'll get you a drink," Silverbolt said, hand on Skyfire's shoulder so he could lean in close to make himself heard, breath warm on Skyfire's suddenly sensitised cheek, lips _almost_ brushing his ear. "Do you want non-alcoholic? If you're working late?"

"Please," said Skyfire, and if the word came out more breathless than he'd intended, Silverbolt either didn't notice, or pretended not to.

Fireflight had finished with his radioactive concoction by the time Skyfire got over to his little group. The youngest of the Aerials – just come of age tonight, for God's sake, in this war that had stooped to recruiting bare children – gave a yelp of delight when he caught sight of Skyfire, and shoved his empty glass into Slingshot's hand so he could launch himself into the taller man's arms.

"I didn't think you'd come!" Fireflight hugged Skyfire tightly, laughing up at him – heaven knew how much he'd had to drink already, but he was steady enough, his eyes sparkling gladly. "Did Silverbolt come back with you?"

"He's just getting drinks," replied Skyfire, making no real effort to disengage; despite his solitary nature, he'd always enjoyed Fireflight's easy affection. "Any casualties yet?"

"Well, we haven't seen Skydive for a while..."

"Only because he's in the kitchen," put in Air Raid, perched on the arm of one of the couches. "He got into an argument with Hot Rod about the best way to make a vapour trail, and they went off to experiment."

"It's a cocktail," Fireflight added, for Skyfire's benefit. "Come and sit down!"

Somehow room was made on the couch, though Fireflight ended up all but sitting in Skyfire's lap, and Skyfire was privately sure that First Aid, on his other side, must be terribly uncomfortable, though he insisted he was fine. Skyfire cast a quick glance over the other side of the room and spotted Silverbolt talking to Hot Spot by the drinks. A guilty part of him was relieved that Silverbolt wasn't coming back immediately.

"We haven't seen much of you lately," First Aid was saying. "How's the packing going?"

"Slowly," Skyfire replied. "Every time I get one thing done, another five seem to pop up out of subspace."

"Leave it all to the last minute," Air Raid advised him. "It all gets done anyway, and you can enjoy the rest of your time out of that lab!"

Skyfire laughed, but Fireflight looked at him with an unexpectedly serious expression.

"Maybe you should. You've hardly been out of it for weeks. It's starting to feel like you've already left, and you've got another month yet."

"I've got a lot to do..."

"But you shouldn't _just_ be doing that." Fireflight leaned in close, rested his head on Skyfire's shoulder for a minute. "We're going to miss you a lot, you know."

"I..." Skyfire's heart lurched painfully. "I'm going to miss you all too, 'Flight."

He didn't add that he had been trying to achieve exactly what Fireflight had just described, trying to make it as though he had already departed on the mission so there was no room left for any ill-advised decisions. No time for his certainty to waver. No time to look at Silverbolt and wish...

But Silverbolt had found ways around his self-imposed isolation anyway – never intrusive, never bothersome - always considerate, always casual. Always just... _there,_ just when Skyfire needed a break, just when he needed someone to talk to.

"Besides, you're gonna be on your own for, what, six months?" Slingshot looked like he was having difficulty imagining it. "You need to have fun while you can."

Skyfire refrained from pointing out that his idea of fun was rather different from Slingshot's; he had the uneasy feeling, all of a sudden, that Slingshot's implication went further than the surface meaning. He didn't _think_ Silverbolt would have said anything, but then, maybe he wouldn't have to; maybe the not-quite-telepathy between the five of them would give him away.

As if summoned by the thought, Silverbolt appeared by the couch, drinks in his hands, with Hot Spot at his elbow. He paused, casting about for somewhere to sit.

"Here," said First Aid, jumping up, "have mine, I need to grab Hot Spot for a second, anyway."

On the other hand, perhaps it was just an outright conspiracy, Skyfire thought, as Silverbolt slid in next to him, pressed up close to fit into First Aid's vacated spot. He took his drink with a polite smile, and tried not to think about how _warm_ Silverbolt was. Or the way their fingers brushed, and the way Silverbolt's lingered just too long to be reasonably called an accident.

Time blurred for a while, the chatter and noise of the party washing over him in waves. Even though his drink was, as promised, nothing more than fruit juice, Skyfire felt light headed and dizzy. Unlike Fireflight, Silverbolt was not actively tactile, didn't lean against him or touch him on purpose, but he was sitting so close that Skyfire could feel the small shifts of his body as he breathed, that sometimes when he leaned forward to talk to Fireflight, his forearm brushed Skyfire's knee, so fleetingly it was _surely_ coincidence. 

One time, Skyfire turned his head to say something, just as Silverbolt was leaning over to do the same, and they found themselves almost eye to eye. There was a frozen moment, where Skyfire's breath hitched, and Silverbolt's smile slid off his face, replaced by something deep and intense, and Skyfire thought, _He's going to kiss me, and I don't know if I'm going to stop him._

But the moment drew on, and Silverbolt's tongue darted out to wet his lips, and then his eyelids swept down in what might have been defeat, and he leaned back, forcing a smile, and turned to ask Slingshot something. And Skyfire sat, blind and deaf, for long minutes, until some comment of Fireflight's brought him to his senses.

"I'm going for another drink," he said, hastily swallowing what was left of his. "Be right back."

Escaping to the other side of the room brought some small relief, but not much, not when his whole body was thrumming with want, when he couldn't get Silverbolt, begging with his eyes to be kissed, out of his mind. Skyfire stared at the various bottles for a long time, came to a decision, and mixed himself something decidedly more alcoholic than fruit juice.

He stayed where he was as he sipped it, but he couldn't stop his eyes straying back over to the Aerials. He half expected to find Silverbolt watching him, but he was once more talking to Hot Spot. The leader of the Defence squad had been standing, but as Skyfire watched, Fireflight launched himself out of his seat in response to something Sideswipe had just shouted from behind him, and Hot Spot swung himself down into the empty spot. He said something that made Silverbolt laugh with such easy unselfconsciousness that a swift pang of jealousy turned Skyfire's stomach.

They'd known each other since before they'd arrived on base, those two. Rumour had always had it that they were seeing each other, though Silverbolt had contrived to let Skyfire know that rumour was wrong on that score. Skyfire had always rather suspected, though, that Hot Spot's feelings ran deeper on the matter than Silverbolt's. 

And it would make more sense, Skyfire thought with bitter self-deprecation, far more sense for Silverbolt to be with someone his own age, someone without demons in their past. More sense to be persuaded by that patient affection and steady friendship, than to be left waiting with no more than a promise while Skyfire disappeared into the black for months – maybe years, if the mission went awry.

It didn't stop him from clamping his fingers too tightly on his glass when Hot Spot smiled at Silverbolt, though; didn't stop him wanting to walk over there and, and...

... and do exactly what he had been trying so hard not to do since he'd realised he couldn't, in good conscience, turn down the deep space run. Skyfire turned away abruptly, took a deep swallow of his drink, and told himself that he would just wait until it had started to hit, then go over there and make his excuses to Fireflight, get out and hide in his lab and hope – even as jealousy twisted sickly somewhere in the pit of his stomach – that Hot Spot would contrive to distract Silverbolt and make him forget that he'd set his sights so determinedly on cracking Skyfire's last reserves of control.

If that was even what he was doing. Maybe, Skyfire thought, it really _was_ all in his head.

"Hey, Skyfire."

Jazz had appeared beside him with a grin, in the process of pouring himself another drink. He looked at Skyfire's face, paused, and cast a glance over his shoulder.

"That bad, huh?"

Skyfire forced his expression blank, sipped at his drink as nonchalantly as he could.

"I'm sorry?"

"C'mon, Skyfire." Jazz turned so that he was leaning back against the table, looking in the direction Skyfire was steadfastly avoiding. "Aren't we friends?"

"I really don't want to talk about it."

"Yeah, and I really don't wanna make you." Jazz flashed him a grin when Skyfire turned a sceptical look his way. "But you're running outta time, and I hate seein' you makin' yourself unhappy."

"I'm going to be unhappy no matter what happens," Skyfire muttered bleakly. "At least I can do the responsible thing."

"Does that involve making him unhappy, too? 'Cos it's lookin' to me less like 'responsible' and more like 'cruel' at this point."

Skyfire glared at him, for a moment so angry he could barely breathe – what the hell did Jazz know, anyway? But Jazz was watching him with cool assessment on his face, and warm compassion in his eyes. Skyfire sagged a little, leaned on the table with both hands, hung his head.

"He's too young," he said.

"He's three years past majority, five past jailbait," Jazz replied promptly. "And you're not so old yourself, you know."

"It's not so much a matter of years," Skyfire said. "If I'd met him sooner, or... if the mission wasn't so... but you've seen the briefing. You know what deep space runs are like. Six months at best... Jazz, I _can't_ start something with him now. It's not fair."

Jazz gave him a long, considering look.

"You think torturing the both of you like this is gonna make it any easier on him? Or on you?"

"No, but... at least this way, there's no, no _obligation_... I can't ask him to _wait_ , he's so young and I..."

"He ain't so very young."

"Fine," muttered Skyfire, giving in to temptation, and casting a glance over his shoulder. Hot Spot had disappeared. Silverbolt was sitting quietly, not talking to anyone – perhaps listening to his team's cheerful interaction, perhaps not – one arm lying along the top of the couch. "But I won't... I _won't_... start this if I can't finish it, and I _can't_ ask him to wait until I _can_ finish it... it's not fair."

"You keep sayin' that." Jazz took Skyfire's almost empty glass from him, sniffed it, reached for a bottle. "But strikes me as you ain't bein' too fair on him yourself. You ask him what _he_ wants?" With deft movements, Jazz topped up Skyfire's drink and handed it back. "Or is it about him, after all?" He met Skyfire's eyes. "Is it you who's scared, maybe?"

Skyfire turned away angrily, started back across the room.

"I'm trying to do the right thing," he tossed back over his shoulder.

"I hear ya," replied Jazz, with a sigh. He did not follow.

Silverbolt looked up with a smile when Skyfire got back to the couch. Somehow, people had drifted away from that area – though the other Aerials were still nearby, they were talking to different people now, and though there were several laughing, chattering groups near and behind the couches, that space itself had become oddly private. It had the advantage that, when he sat down, he was no longer squashed up against Silverbolt. If that could be called an advantage; a rather vocal part of his mind was less than convinced.

"You okay?" 

Silverbolt leaned forward a bit to make himself heard, but not quite enough to be in Skyfire's personal space. Skyfire found himself studying the blue of his eyes – had it darkened, just a little, or was he imagining it? - and the soft curve of his mouth. He had unbuttoned his shirt halfway at some point, and the t-shirt he wore underneath clung appealingly to his body.

"I'm fine," Skyfire managed, though it was a lie. "I got talking to Jazz."

"I saw." Silverbolt leaned back, stretched absently; arms arching gracefully behind his head, hands loosely clasped. Skyfire swallowed hard, tried to hide it; Silverbolt was still looking at him. Real concern crept onto his face. "Are you sure you're okay? You looked... upset."

Just for a second, Skyfire was angry with him. He _knew_ what he was doing, he _had_ to – _knew_ he was pushing Skyfire's control to its limits, _knew_ he was tormenting him...

... the anger was gone as quickly as it had come. Jazz was right, Skyfire thought miserably as he mumbled something reassuring and turned to look out over the room, away from Silverbolt. Jazz was right: this was about _him_. Silverbolt had made it plain, was still making it plain, that he wanted Skyfire. Had apparently no care for how short a time there was left, or for what pain might follow; was willing to take Skyfire for what he _was_ , not who he used to be; was generous and clever and honest and _passionate_ , when you got past that careful veneer of common sense and practicality; was everything Skyfire had never known he needed. And he deserved so, so much better than anything Skyfire had to offer.

That was the crux of it, all bundled up with urgency and fear, with that implacable deadline looming over all.

"Skyfire!" 

Suddenly, Fireflight was back – giggly and giddy, probably drunker than anyone that upright had a right to be, and how was it, anyway, that the klutz of the team was so steady on his feet while inebriated? – and dropping down into Skyfire's lap with cheerful abandon. Skyfire was momentarily preoccupied with making sure his drink didn't end up all over the couch; when he looked up, he thought he caught the end of a rather sharp glare from Silverbolt, but it was gone so quickly he might have imagined it. Certainly Fireflight, normally so perceptive he seemed to read minds, didn't appear to have noticed.

"We're going to play a game," Fireflight said, louder than he needed to be over the music. "Join us? You too, Silverbolt."

"You know how I feel about drinking games," replied Silverbolt.

"It's not a drinking game," protested Fireflight. "Not exactly. I mean, I guess we'll _be_ drinking while we play it, but it's not, y'know, like you _have_ to."

"Does it involve either dangerous pranks or inappropriate sexual escapades?"

And oh, Skyfire couldn't help _laughing_ , at the dear way Silverbolt frowned – the very image of 'too serious' and 'too sensible' – and Silverbolt caught his eye and the frown melted away into his own sheepish, self-mocking smile – and all at once Skyfire knew that he had to get Fireflight _out_ of his lap, and that he had to go, right now, or be completely undone.

"Off, you," he said, covering desperation with a teasing note. "Go and molest someone else."

"I wasn't molesting!" Fireflight slid off obediently enough, but there was a note of sudden, real worry in his voice; he glanced sidelong at Silverbolt. "Really, you know I wouldn't--"

"Joke, Fireflight." Skyfire stood up and ran his hand quickly, playfully over Fireflight's tussled hair. "I'm afraid I need to get back to the lab. I hope you're having a wonderful party."

"Oh, yes--" Another quick sideways glance. "-- but couldn't you stay a bit longer? I'm sure Silverbolt would--"

"Fireflight," said Silverbolt sharply.

"I've really got to go." Skyfire put his nearly full drink down on the table, forced himself to look squarely at Silverbolt. "I'll see you tomorrow."

And Silverbolt, for the first time that evening, looked like he didn't know what to do – looked helplessly back at Skyfire like there was so much he wanted to say, and couldn't – looked his age, for once, and with that shadow of hurt creeping into his eyes already – and Skyfire turned away, because there was nothing else – _nothing else_ – he could safely do.

He brushed past Air Raid on his way to the door; Air Raid turned to him, startled.

"You're not going?"

"See you later," Skyfire replied without stopping. Why was Air Raid surprised? He never did stay long at parties.

He _must_ have imagined hearing, a moment later, Air Raid's voice, raised in urgent demand: "You're not letting him _go_ , are you?"

The corridor was blessedly quiet, in comparison, and rather cooler – he hadn't even noticed how hot it was in there, until he felt the relief of it on his face and neck. _God_. He wouldn't make good on his excuse, he knew; he wasn't going to be able to concentrate in the lab now. He'd go back to his quarters, shower, find a book, and read until exhaustion forced him into sleep. He knew there'd be none for him otherwise.

"Skyfire, wait--"

Skyfire stopped, and turned, because he had to, he couldn't just stride off without speaking, that would be crossing a line – a fuzzy line he was no longer sure of – would be as cruel as Jazz had accused him of being.

"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it. "I've just... had enough for one evening."

Silverbolt came up close to him, eyes on his, something in his face that might have been a struggle. Whatever it was, he lost it: he cast his gaze downwards, with a rapid series of blinks, then looked up with a careful smile that rang so false it made Skyfire _hurt_.

"Thanks for coming."

"Silverbolt, I..." 

Skyfire wanted to say so much, apologise and justify all at once, but all he could think of was that almost-kiss and the way the heavy tension had been thickening between them all night to the point where he was choked with it. All he could focus on was Silverbolt's tongue darting out to touch his lips – his disordered hair and the flush under his skin - the shadowed hollow of his neck, the slow slip of his shirt from one shoulder.

"It's okay," said Silverbolt softly, defeat bright as a blade in his eyes. "Goodnight, Skyfire."

 _It couldn't hurt,_ Skyfire thought, with what he was aware was a near-feverish desperation, _to kiss him goodnight._

He wasn't conscious of which of them moved, only that Silverbolt's lips were warm and willing, and his mouth opened eagerly under Skyfire's. Silverbolt was tall enough that Skyfire hardly had to incline his head, but he fitted into Skyfire's arms like he belonged there. 

And _oh_ , but Silverbolt knew how to kiss. All Skyfire's good intentions were lost in the flood of _need_ that rushed through him, as Silverbolt, eyelids lowered and breath coming in little stolen gasps between kisses, gently sucked, and nibbled, and licked at Skyfire's mouth until Skyfire could feel himself shaking. He hauled Silverbolt tight against him, one hand fisting into his shirt to keep him in place, and gave himself up to it. He let himself explore every inch of Silverbolt's wonderful mouth as he'd been craving for so long, until Silverbolt's soft intakes of breath and wordless gasps became quiet moans and meaningless noises of pleasure. 

Then someone jostled them with a snide, "Can't you do that somewhere else?"

The interruption brought Skyfire out of the haze enough to realise that there was no pretending their embrace was anything like appropriate for a public corridor – Silverbolt's hips flush to his, the whole length of his body pressed up hot and taut against Skyfire's – both of them panting and flushed, staring at each other as though coming out of a dream. The speaker had disappeared into the common room before Skyfire could identify him; he didn't know if anyone else had come out and seen them. He didn't think he'd have noticed.

Slowly, and with immense reluctance, he drew back from Silverbolt, who swayed on his feet and looked so utterly, dazedly _beautiful_ that Skyfire found he couldn't bring himself to break contact completely. He let his hands settle on Silverbolt's waist, had to try several times before he remembered how to speak.

"I... I should go."

"Oh." And it was heartbreaking, watching Silverbolt pull himself together, fighting past the waver in his voice to speak with studied off-handedness through lips bruised with kisses. "Okay. I'll... I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

Silverbolt's fingers curled briefly into Skyfire's belt, as if he longed to hold on and never let go, but he swallowed hard – and Skyfire wanted to kiss his throat, tease that fair skin with teeth and tongue – and went on.

"I... I'd better get back and... make sure Slingshot hasn't taken Blades up on that shots challenge..."

The thought of letting go of Silverbolt now and not seeing him again for over twelve hours was intolerable. The thought of letting him go back into that room looking like he did right now was even worse. Skyfire wanted to push him into the nearest dark corner and take that dishevelled, wanton look as far as it would go, and he never, ever wanted anyone else to come even _close_ to seeing it.

With a low groan, he let his head fall forward onto Silverbolt's shoulder. Even the warmth of skin against his forehead teased him with possibility. After a second, Silverbolt's hand came up to comb hesitant fingers through his hair.

"Are you okay?"

"No," Skyfire said, tired of pretending. "You're driving me _crazy_."

Fingers stilled in his hair, and Silverbolt said quietly, "Do you want me to stop?"

"No." Skyfire raised his head, looked into eyes dimmed from their usual brilliance by desire and concern, felt his heart clench with a near-painful love and longing. "That's the problem."

From the common room came a shout, followed by a chorus of cheers and whistles, and a loud crash. Silverbolt didn't even glance at the door. His fingers traced slow circles at the nape of Skyfire's neck, eyes on Skyfire's, waiting. Skyfire tugged him in closer, studying every detail of his face, then leaned in to kiss him again.

It was slower this time, but no less passionate, and Skyfire drew back before it could get out of hand.

"You'd better tell them you're leaving," he managed, voice rough.

Silverbolt's smile was slight, but devastating in its heady mix of desire and shameless triumph.

"They'll figure it out."

It wasn't far to Skyfire's quarters, but it seemed to take forever; now that he'd given in, all at once and like a falling star, Skyfire couldn't bear not to be touching Silverbolt, wanted to cover every inch of him with kisses, somehow make up for lost time. Their hands brushed, and crept together, fingers twining; then, made bold by the empty corridors, Skyfire's arm slid about Silverbolt's waist, Silverbolt turning his head to press his face against Skyfire's shoulder. They stumbled a little, neither paying the least attention to where they were going, and then all at once Silverbolt was stopping him with a hand on his chest, turning him, and they were kissing again, Silverbolt pressing him back against the wall, mouth so desperate on Skyfire's that Skyfire forgot everything except soothing away some of that urgency and easing some of that fear. Except then his arms were around Silverbolt, and Silverbolt had him pinned to the wall with his whole body, warm and firm and oh so good, and Skyfire realised all at once that if he didn't put a stop to things right now, he was going to disgrace himself right here in the corridor.

He had a suspicion, from the look he got as he gently eased them apart, that Silverbolt was rather in favour of the idea.

"My room's not far."

"I know."

They walked the rest of the way without touching. Skyfire had a horrible moment, staring blankly at his door, where he thought he'd forgotten his code; fortunately, his fingers found their way to the numbers without conscious intervention from his brain.

When they got inside, it took an immense effort for Skyfire not to just grab Silverbolt and kiss him senseless, forget everything in the long-banked passion that threatened to consume him. He fought the urge; caught Silverbolt by the shoulders when he would have slipped in close; looked for a span of heartbeats into his face.

"Skyfire..." Silverbolt's voice _broke_ on his name, hands coming up to curl into Skyfire's sweater. " _Please_. I can't... I can't get through another month of..."

"I just," said Skyfire, "I didn't want... I don't want you to have to wait..."

Silverbolt was in his arms, face pressed into his neck, mouth not quite touching skin.

"I'd be waiting no matter what," he whispered. "Don't you know I'm in love with you?"

"You are?"

"Mmm." Silverbolt kissed the place where his neck and shoulder met, sucked a little until Skyfire _moaned_. "Quite a lot, actually."

And honestly, he _had_ known, couldn't pretend he'd misread Silverbolt's intentions as anything other than the same deep, intense emotion that had claimed him so swiftly and without warning, so that one day he simply looked into those beautiful eyes and realised, all at once, that he couldn't imagine his life without Silverbolt in it.

That had been the day Optimus Prime had called him in to ask if he would consider the deep space run.

Skyfire wrapped his arms hard around Silverbolt, turned his head to meet Silverbolt's eager mouth with his own, and for a few minutes just didn't think at all, about anything, except how badly he wanted this, and how much he wished he wasn't going anywhere, ever again.

Somehow they made it to the bed. Silverbolt was tugging Skyfire's sweater over his head before they even got there; Skyfire had already pushed Silverbolt's shirt off his shoulders. Then Skyfire found himself flat on his back, Silverbolt above him, fingers working quickly, if shakily, on the buttons of Skyfire's shirt.

Skyfire slid his hands up under Silverbolt's t-shirt, brought the material with them as he made one long, slow sweep up smooth, flushed skin. Silverbolt sat back, pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it blindly to one side, then forward into Skyfire's arms. Skin on skin felt desperately good; for a while they were lost in a chaos of touching and tasting, and Skyfire found that he could make Silverbolt _whine_ with need if he sucked on the gorgeous sweep of his collarbone. Similar attention to his neck, coupled with warm fingers tracing up his spine, made Silverbolt more than just whine; made him grind down frantically against Skyfire, all his careful seduction abandoned to _want_. And _that_ made fireworks go off behind Skyfire's eyes, made his hands slide lower until Silverbolt's little noises turned to soft cries, sweet friction driving them almost past the point of no return...

"W-wait..." Silverbolt panted, raising himself up on his elbows, flushed and dark-eyed with desire. "I want... I want to do this properly."

"Anything," Skyfire murmured, working his fingers into Silverbolt's back pocket just to feel him squirm, "that involves you, in my arms, is doing it _properly_ , in my opinion."

"Oh, God, Skyfire..." Silverbolt kissed him as if he couldn't help himself. "You know what I mean..."

"Mmm?"

" _Skyfire..._ oh _..._ can... can we at least take the rest of our clothes off?"

For answer, Skyfire fumbled at the front of Silverbolt's jeans, earning a muffled whimper and a helpless little nudge against his hand before Silverbolt got control of himself and shifted enough away from Skyfire to give him room to work the button and zip. Then Skyfire was pushing the heavy denim down Silverbolt's hips, and yes, this was definitely better, the way Silverbolt arched into him, even more heated skin to touch and stroke...

Silverbolt's hands were on Skyfire's belt buckle before he'd finished kicking his legs free of the discarded jeans. He had difficulty with the stiff leather; Skyfire pushed his hands aside and quickly unbuckled the belt himself, better used to its mechanism. After that it was no problem to wriggle out of the looser fabric of his slacks, or wouldn't have been, if Silverbolt could just keep his damn hands to himself.

He got his revenge by sliding his hand down between their bodies and wrapping it firmly around Silverbolt's cock. The reaction he got was more than gratifying; Silverbolt writhing against him with gasping half-words, "Yes," and, "Harder," and " _Please!_ " A couple of hard strokes and Silverbolt was trembling all over, biting his lip and so clearly on the edge that Skyfire thought he could have just breathed on him to tip him over.

Instead, he stilled them both completely, drew Silverbolt in close, kissed him softly, and whispered, "I love you." He started gently pumping his hand, coaxing Silverbolt into exquisitely slow release...

Silverbolt was _loud_. Skyfire wouldn't have expected it, except it made a strange kind of sense – Silverbolt was so tightly in control of himself the rest of the time. He'd loved Silverbolt's voice since the moment they'd met; hearing it now, breathless and helpless and crying his name, was almost enough to finish Skyfire off. Then Silverbolt was twisting against him, hip to hip, just the right pressure in just the right place... and Skyfire grabbed at him and clung on, taken utterly unaware, unable to do anything but moan his name, " _Sil_ verbolt," just once.

For a long while afterwards, Skyfire was completely sure that neither of them would ever move again. Silverbolt settled against him with a tiny, contented sound, and Skyfire pressed his face into tousled hair, breathed in the scent of him and wondered how he'd thought going without this was a sensible solution. He ran his hand lightly down Silverbolt's back and got an appreciative murmur, and a lazy movement of Silverbolt's arm, tightening possessively over his body.

He almost thought Silverbolt had fallen asleep, but then he stirred and nuzzled into Skyfire's neck with an unintelligible query.

"What was that?"

Silverbolt's hand crept up to trace light, nervous patterns on Skyfire's chest.

"Is this okay?" He sounded, for the first time that night, like he wasn't sure. "I mean..."

"Well," said Skyfire thoughtfully, "my pride is a little sore." He rolled Silverbolt onto his back, pinned him with lazy ease, and began to kiss his throat, feeling the pulse there speed up. "I don't think I've ever been so relentlessly seduced."

Silverbolt laughed, low and pleased, and Skyfire felt the sound against his lips, and shivered.

"Seduced? I don't know what you..."

"Yes, you do." Skyfire raised himself on his elbows to smile down into dancing blue eyes. "You are _dangerous_ , my love."

Silverbolt looped his arms behind Skyfire's neck, looked up at him with such naked desire and delight that Skyfire thought, hell, it would have been worth it if he'd had to get in the damn shuttle _tomorrow_ , to have had this, tonight.

And they had a whole month.

He bent to kiss Silverbolt, slow and luxurious, worked his mouth over Silverbolt's until Silverbolt was making little happy noises and clinging to Skyfire like he'd fall apart if he didn't.

Then Skyfire drew back and began to trail his mouth down Silverbolt's body.

"What are you doing?"

Skyfire caught one of Silverbolt's hands, turned it palm up, and kissed it.

"Making up for lost time," he said.


End file.
